


The Devil May Care

by sykurr



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Contracts, Deal with a Devil, M/M, Slow Updates, Unrequited Love, Wishes, and depression, babys first fic, but we need more nygmobblepot fics, cuz I have school, look im an artist not a writer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 09:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8484439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sykurr/pseuds/sykurr
Summary: Edward Nygma makes a deal with the Devil- or rather-- his assistant. A chance at everything he's ever wanted, in return for his soul. (AKA the Bedazzled AU that nobody asked for, but I feel the need to write.)





	

“Miss Kringle? Did you know that- Ahem. Good morning, Miss Kringle. Did _you_ know that...that...”

Ed frowned, so did his reflection. He sighed, “that I’m hopeless?”

Straightening his tie, he leaves the bathroom and makes his way to the break room. A handful of his coworkers sit around a table, chatting about what can only be nonsensical topics, Ed concludes. He doesn’t particularly care for them. Edward Nygma has worked for Wayne Enterprises, a computer company, for the past five years. And in his time there he’s realized it’s best to keep to himself-- or at least his coworkers seemed to have decided that for him. He’s not sure what he did to deserve such disdain from his department, why they avoid him, but he’s come to accept it.

As Ed steps around the table, the chatter becomes hushed, secretive almost, and he wouldn’t doubt that they were talking about him. The coffee maker hums as it gets to work. Ed taps his fingers against the counter and waits. Just as he’s grabbing his mug and placing it under the spout, there’s a sound.

_Click- click- click- click…_

Ed frowns once more, and the sound increases in volume. _Is the machine broken again? They said they fixed it just last month, surely then it would-_ The sound comes to a halt, and suddenly Ed recognizes it as the clack of women’s heels against a hard floor.

“Excuse me...”

He turns around slowly

“M-Miss Kringle.”

She gives a small smile, and Ed swears his heart swells a little in his chest.

“Yes. Mister…” She trails off, uncertain.

“Nygma,” He supplies. “Ed. Edward Nygma.”

“Mister Nygma,”

This time he smiles at her, a big grin, and she shifts from one foot to the other. He wonders for a moment if this is a dream. Kristen had never approached him before. He hadn’t even been sure she knew he existed. The two rarely crossed paths, seeing as they worked in different departments of the company. Ed can’t help the excitement he feels. It translates into a sudden confidence he had never had previously. _This is it. This is my chance, finally._

“Miss Kringle, did you know that-”

The coffee maker beeps, signifying that his cup is ready. He blinks, and then he inwardly curses the machine for interrupting his moment.

“I think that’s yours,” Kristen says. Then she shoots him a sheepish look. “Um, sorry but- could you move over a bit? You see, there's something on the shelf behind you that I need to get. So if you could just…” She steps forward, waiting for him to move.

Ed deflates when he realizes that she hadn’t approached him because she wanted to talk, but because he was in her way. He quickly obliges her request. She thanks him, grabs what she needed, and exits the room, leaving him standing by himself-- his cup of coffee forgotten. Ed doesn’t notice the pitying glances the employees around the table give him. In fact, he doesn’t notice anything but the _click-click_ of Kristen Kringle's shoes as she walks away.

_Did you know that there’s this lovely Italian restaurant across the street, and…_

 

_~_

 

The room is bathed in the bluish glow of the quiet television. Ed pushes his Chinese takeout around in its container, wishing he was having spaghetti perhaps instead of chow-mein. Wishing he was on a date perhaps instead of sitting by himself listening to the dull tones of the evening news.

He sighs, giving up on his meal, and rises from his seat. He dumps the takeout in the trash can located in the corner of his kitchen, and when the lid of the can comes down it wafts an unpleasant scent into his face. Ed scrunches his nose and decides he must take care of that.

Gotham’s chilly temperatures make him wish he’d put on a coat before stepping outside of his apartment building. However, he dismisses the thought and reminds himself he’ll only be out for a moment. The dumpster is tucked in an alleyway beside his residence and it creaks when Ed lifts it open. He carelessly tosses the bag inside and lets it close by itself with a resounding _slam_.

Another wave of brisk air hits. It brings a tightness to his stomach that mingles with leftover feelings of chagrin from earlier that day. Thoughts of Miss Kringle fill his head. It’s true, that after spending five years working for Wayne Enterprises he had learned to keep to himself. But if there was one person who he would go back on that for, it was her. The red-head from marketing had had him smitten since the day she joined the company herself, almost a year ago. Ed had spent those past 11 months admiring her from a distance, working up the courage to approach the woman and ask her out.

He’d been so sure that this was it! And now things were looking bleak again. He wonders if Kristen would have accepted his invite to dinner, realizing now that this was her first time meeting him. _No,_ he scoffs at himself, _how dull of me. What woman would go to dinner with a man she just met? And a man standing in her way as well!_

A stray puddle catches his eye and he contemplates his reflection. Empty eyes stare back at him.

“Oh, Miss Kringle,” He says aloud. “I’d give anything to be with you.”

The puddle turns dark as a shadow of a person fills it. For a brief second, Ed thinks he’s about to be mugged. The shadow is small, however, and he thinks that maybe he could take this person on. He’s not the strongest man but-

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Is that so?”

Ed’s eyes flick up and fit the Stranger with a contemplating gaze. The man is indeed small but holds himself with such confidence that Ed decides that he probably wouldn't be able to take him on. His hair is jet black and sticks up in odd places. Expensive looking attire adorns the man’s body, attire that muggers certainly can’t afford, which puts Ed a bit more at ease.

Adjusting his glasses, he asks the Stranger, “Who are you?”

“A friend,” the Stranger shrugs and gives a childish grin. “Did you mean what you said before? Would you really give anything?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Ed answers, peeved that this man had heard his desperate confession.

“Oh, but it is!” Another grin, this one slightly unsettling. “Tell me,” He implores. “Would you say, perhaps, that you’d _sell your soul to the_ _D_ _evil?_ ”

“And I’m to presume that you’re he?” Ed scoffs.

“Edward, you flatter me.”

“How do you know my name?”

“No, I am not the Devil, he doesn’t handle soul collecting anymore-- too busy. I _do_ work for him, however. His right-hand man, if you will.”

“You didn’t answer me.

“I know your name, dear Eddie, because I’ve been watching you for awhile. And I couldn’t help but notice that your life is, well, how shall I put this?” He pretends to give it thought before saying, “Pathetic.”

Ed’s eyes narrow in aggravation. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

“Didn't I just say I’ve been watching you?” The Stranger asks, amused. “Anyway, that’s why I’m here, I want to help you. I can grant you _wishes_.”

“ _Wishes_?” Ed asks, incredulously. “And now I’m to believe you're some sort of magic man as well? Thank you, but-- no thank you.” He moves to leave, but when he turns around the Stranger is facing him again.

“How-”

“Now wait just a moment, friend. I can prove it to you. Go on, wish for something right now.” He encourages, interrupting the taller man.

For a moment, Ed thinks to protest again, but he decides to humor the strange man. He’s suddenly aware of how tired he feels and remembers his abandoned beverage from the morning.

“I’d like some coffee, please.”

The Stranger steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut, and he shuts his eyes. When he opens them again, he’s standing in a cafe, one he recognizes as being near his home.The Stranger is at his side. “Two coffees, please. Black.” He hears the man say to the barista.

 _So this is it, huh?_ Ed thinks. _Magic is real. The Devil is real. (Does that mean God is real too?) And now I’m having coffee with his personal assistant._ He cautiously walks over to a booth, sits down, and rests his head on the table, collecting his thoughts. _What a day._

A cup is placed in front of him, and he raises his head to see the Stranger grinning once more at him.

“So,” He takes a seat. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” Ed inquires, sipping his coffee.

“Seven wishes. In return for one soul.”

A doubtful look crosses Ed’s face, and the Stranger adds, “You can wish for anything you want. Fame. Fortune… _Love_.” He says the last part with emphasis and Ed knows he’s referring to Miss Kringle.

He considers it. The man was right, his life is dismal. He supposes he can do without a soul for the rest of his life. Would he even notice the difference? _Probably not_ , he thinks. What does a soul even do?

And it’s on this thought that Ed replies, “Yes. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” the small man beams. He then pulls a paper from his coat. “Now I just need you to sign here-- on the dotted line.” He supplies Ed with a pen, who does as he’s told.

“Excellent, excellent! Do you have your first wish in mind?”

“No, not yet,” Ed says truthfully.

“Very well then,” The Stranger folds the contract and places it back in his coat. “Call for me tomorrow when you have it figured out.” He stands and begins to walk towards the doors with a limp that Ed hadn't noticed earlier. He thinks of asking about it, but instead asks:

“And how do I do that, exactly?”

The man stops and turns. “By saying my name, of course.”

“And that would be?”

“Oswald. Pleasure doing business with you, Mister Nygma.”

 And then he finally leaves, and Ed is left alone once more. This time his coffee is not forgotten, and he smiles as he raises it to his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know. Consider this a prologue of some sort if you want. Hopefully future chapters will be longer!

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at http://grindyloe.tumblr.com  
> comments are appreciated! x


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